did I shave my pnoosey for this?! : Valentines Tales

Slap Happy
I was excited to celebrate my first I ACTUALLY HAVE A BOYFRIEND NOW valentine’s day. I got myself a perfect Carrie-Bradshaw-attends-an-art-gallery-opening-on-the-lower-east-side cocktail dress. I was lookin fly. He did everything right: dinner, drinks all the while being chivalrous. Too good to be true. It was time to open my gift which was beautifully wrapped in what looked to be a huge basket filled with presents. Spa essentials?? Silk lingerie?? I couldn’t wait to find out!

Contents: purple velour handcuffs, a cat-o-nine tails, a full body fishnet stocking with easy-access-pussy-hole cut out at the crotch, and a pink gag.

My expression had said it all. Dumbfounded, I put the gag up to my mouth and imagined my tiny body on a pig roast. Is that what he wanted to do? Eat me like a pig? Please know I have nothing against humans exploring sexuality in this way; it’s just that my guy and I had never mentioned this before. And with what had been a perfect night, it just seemed like a weird time to bring that stuff up. Only got one use out of it…I slapped the shit out of his balls with that cat-o-nine tails.


Quelle Artiste

I was attracted to a certain type of dude as a young woman. I liked them brooding, emotional and opinionated. I still like those traits but have added the necessary ones of funny, happy and chill. As a newly sexually active young woman (FINALLY!) I was ready to get freak-a-leaky on VDay. I went shop lifting at Victoria’s Secret where the only thing that fit and was without a security tags was some white silky bridal negligee. To me, PERFECT. I couldn’t wait to see the epic boner he was going to get from this sweet and sexy honeymoon maker. We’ll cut to the chase. At the time he was living in a studio that had a common kitchen with 3 other apartments. It was kind of scary TBH. But he had his own bathroom (covered in paints and cigarette butts!) where I changed into this hot little number. I poked myself coquettishly around the corner (at that age I thought being shy was being sexy - kill me), walked into the room, posed and waited to be taken. Just like a romance novel. But he didn’t. Instead he got depressed. He hated what I was wearing. He hated that I wasn’t confident (I was! It was a performance!) and he said something about how our sex in general was ‘base’ (hopefully home base, amirite?). He picked himself up from moping long enough to give me a gift! A big framed picture of John William Waterhouse’s “la belle dame sans merci” which I thought was very romantic but that’s because i didn’t know what that title meant and hadn’t read the poem! Man, at that age people are all mixed up and turned around. This is all sort of embarrassing to think about. We broke up.


Scent of a Woman

The first year I moved to Chicago was filled with a lot of self exploration. I was taking improv classes, meeting new people, new jobs, trying new styles and was on the hunt to find my signature scent. Anytime I went out shopping I would smell all the perfumes trying to find the one that really captured my essence. And then I found Victoria Secret Angels. It was sweet and innocent with a hint of sexy and daring, just like me! I bought a bottle of lotion and started to wear it just in time for Valentine’s Day! On V-Day I go to a show with a gal pal of mine and this dude I’ve been flirtin with for awhile asks me out, cause he knows I’m single since I’m with a gal pal on valentines day and he can smell the naughty Angel aroma wafting through the air.

I was finally a sophisticated woman, living in a city, a new signature scent and now a guy is asking me out on a proper date. Hello romance! Hello Life!

We go out soon after and all goes well, flash forward we’re making out without shirts at my place. He stays the night and when we wake up he is alarmed. His arms and chest are covered, COVERED in red hives. I gave him a rash. My glorious sexy sweet signature scent gave this poor boy an allergic reaction. I apologized profusely and he was like..’I gotta go..deal with this.” I was mortified. As soon as he walked out the door, I threw that bottle of Angles lotion away and vowed never to step foot into a Victoria Secret again.


Real Men Wrap it Up

I never had a Vday BF before. I once wrote Valentines to everyone I knew though, like improv, work, etc. so that I had an excuse to write one to the boy at my gym who I had a crush on. This was like 2 years ago - we fooled around and it ended cuz he wasn’t into condoms!


Sad Seduction

I had been hooking up with this guy for a while and was totally in love with him. He had told me a few times he didn’t want to date me and I was “so fine with that!!!!!!” aka I would have eloped if he’d asked me. I kept sleeping with him in that self-destructive way a lot of women do before they release the confident lioness inside and find a real man. On Valentine’s Day, I had a show and hung out with friends afterwards. I had been texting him, but he was studying for some dumb exam or something. I was getting drunk on candy heart sugar and pink champagne. I left the V-day post-show party and went back to my place, texting him the whole way, BEGGING him to come over. Not subtle. He reluctantly agreed. When I say reluctantly, I mean he came over in sweatpants, a dirty t-shirt, a hooded sweatshirt, UNTIED sneakers, and a scowl. I was so happy to see him - flittering about like a butterfly on crack trying to be cute and sultry and fun and convince him that having sex with me would be a totally great idea on Valentine’s day even though he did not want me to be his girlfriend. We got down to business and had an okay time. Afterwards we were laying in my bed silently for a while until he said, “Welp. That was a bad idea.” Then he got dressed. Then he left.


Bleeding Hearts

I don’t have a Valentine’s Day story, which seems extremely sad. Even sadder? Losing your virginity and getting blood everywhere….even on your face. What? Bloody nose (him), bloody puss (me)…bloody equals red which equals a Valentine’s Day-ish story.


Freaky Friday #26

In college, I had a friend who was a boy. One night we decided to get freaky. Then we couldn’t stop getting freaky. It was awesome. The sex was great. I felt liberated in that sexy way where you realize, “Oh, THIS is sex and I am a woman and I can literally do anything because I am on top of the world! Thank you sex!”

"Ned" and I were having a blast. No one know what was going on between Ned and me, because Ned and I weren’t dating. We were just getting freaky. Ned and I were in the same group of friends and didn’t want to make things weird. We also weren’t sure we wanted to committ to each other, as that might "ruin our friendship". But we were committed to getting really freaky. Hubba hubba!

It was a weeknight and Ned and I got back to my house. I lived there with a few other girls, all of whom had no idea Ned and I were freaky-deaky together between the sheets. They thought we were just buds and we pretended we were just buds. None of the girls were home on this particular night. Us buddies started getting busy in the kitchen.

I don’t remember how it started, but he and I had a rapport with each other. Rapport = Getting Freaky Whenever Possible. He must have said, “No one is home” or “What’s up?” because we were on each other against the fridge real quick. Pants down. Condom on. Standing up. Window open. Who cares! It was going well for a while. Then the front door opened.

The front door - luckily - was down the hall and did not have a clear view of the kitchen. But… it was a short hall. We had seconds to quit it and zip it. We managed to pull our pants up just as my housemate entered the kitchen. Ned and I channeled all of our frantic energy into a steady stream of generic words, feigning a normal conversation with her. How was her day? What the hell was she doing home? Ned is charismatic so he said something funny. I nervously laughed. The real joke was how close she came to seeing me bent over our kitchen counter.

We stood there talking to her for a good 10 minutes. Ned said he better be going. I walked him to the front door. He whispered, “I’m still wearing the condom. See you tomorrow.” He pinched my butt.

I never got freaky in that kitchen again because it almost gave me a heart attack.


Freaky Friday #25

I’m an adult. A reasonable adult but for whatever reason, as I was driving in a car down Lake Shore Drive last week I asked the group of friends I was with, “Have you ever noticed a driver in a car receiving road head? It’s gotta happen a lot, right? We’ve all done it plenty of times, right?” In that moment I sounded like a slutty adult. But as mentioned above, I’m reasonable, but I have given plenty of road head. …which is not necessarily exciting when you’re in high school or college but just a necessity because your car is a fucking free hotel. I mean, it is, right? Which leads me to two short Freaky Fridays…


In college my boyfriend and I each had two other roommates so for any sort of real privacy we’d drive down an empty country road in the middle of a bunch of corn fields and do it. And it wasn’t some quickie, ya’ll. It was making LOVE because we were in LOVE, which is only significant to mention because for whatever reason we’d strip down till we were completely nude because completely nude means love. Completely nude, in a cornfield, in the middle of nowhere - great - that was how we rolled. Well, fast forward to several rendezvous at this most perfect location. It was just a plain old night where instead of getting away to make LOVE (love) I wanted to get away from all our friends and talk/connect (because we were in love, which makes this story classy). Anyways, both sets of roommates are in our rooms, no where on campus feels right so we decide to drive to our middle-of-nowhere spot and talk there. We arrive at the spot and talk - holding hands fully clothed and 20 minutes into it a couple of cop cars descend upon us. Like a reasonable person, I freak out. My boyfriend was like, “Chill we’re not doing anything wrong.” True. So I chilled. The cops walked up to the window, flashlights in hand, and asked us what we were doing, “Just talking,” which seemed so evident - no steamy windows, clothes in place/not disheveled, no flush faces - oh yeah, baby - we were talking. They let it soak in that we’re good (reasonable and chaste) kids and then asked us to leave, which we do and never ever return. The fact that we were talking and not 100% nude was so freaking lucky. I mean, nude was usually the protocol for that spot….and let’s face it, after our talk we were going to make passionate in-love love in that cornfield i.e., we were minutes away from being caught….instead we went home, counted our blessings and I gave my boyfriend in-love road head because where else were we going to go.


Story #2 - Quickly a Tale I’ll Share…in case you ever want to take a stab


College boyfriend comes home with me for the holidays and because I’m reasonable we never ever come close to having sex at my folks’. And, because I live in a city where there are no cornfields, we’re left with one option: road head (obvi - and it’s not slutty; it’s what we had to work with). We tell my family we’re going to see a movie and then hit the road. Anyways, on the way to the movie, post road head, we pass a Best Western for a price we can afford in the name of the holidays and getting each other off. We check in, do it, take a nap and then check out, telling the clerk we’re heading on in our travels/that we decided to power through instead of staying the night and do you know what he does? He gives us the room for free because we were barely in it. It was just too lucky/awesome for us to ever try again. We counted our blessings, hoped they still opted to change the sheets, and headed out. Although it should be noted that we didn’t really count our blessings because God isn’t real and I’m, as mentioned above - a reasonable person.


irenechicago:

On Sunday Super Human is blowing it out before a little hiatus. Blair’s going on a ship, Jo’s having twins and there are so many 5B student shows next session they have forever canceled the late night shows at iO on Sunday nights.
SO! This Sunday 8pm Studio Be: ONE NIGHT ONLY Sketch Show $5THEN! Follow us to iO for our final 10:30 show $5 (message me if you want a comp to this)
We’d love to see you. https://www.facebook.com/events/221200094703724/
Many thanks to Joey Dundale for the awesome poster.

irenechicago:

On Sunday Super Human is blowing it out before a little hiatus. Blair’s going on a ship, Jo’s having twins and there are so many 5B student shows next session they have forever canceled the late night shows at iO on Sunday nights.

SO! This Sunday 8pm Studio Be: ONE NIGHT ONLY Sketch Show $5

THEN! Follow us to iO for our final 10:30 show $5 (message me if you want a comp to this)

We’d love to see you.
https://www.facebook.com/events/221200094703724/

Many thanks to Joey Dundale for the awesome poster.


Freaky Friday #24: Forever Young

 Ahhh Summertime! The season of short skirts, endless nights and the worst decisions of your calendar year…

It was Mid-July, the summer after freshman year of real life. Earlier in the Fall I had suffered my first real heartbreak and had found my way into a booty call bond with a former ultimate fighter and all around wild man with boyish charm. One tequila filled evening I phoned up my fella and instructed him and his monstrous friends to come out jitterbugging with me at an oldies bar. He arrived about 20 minutes later- just in time for the bar to close, so what else could we do but get nuts?

We hopped a cab and sped down 90/94 with the windows down hanging our heads out like happy little doggies en route for his place. The thrill of wind in my hair seemed to distract me from the fact that we were driving to a nearby suburb. A suburb where his parents lived…

I sometimes wish I had a photograph of the look on my face when the cab stopped in front of a beautiful blue and white house. This kid was bold, he paid the cabby and led me around to the backyard where a swimming pool was waiting. I protested at first, feigning modesty before peeling off my outfit and belly flopping into the pool-  You know just getting full grown-ass woman naked in someone’s parents backyard.

Before long we headed for the basement, my night was really turning into a do-over Prom. The sweet glow of the Howard Stern show dramatically lit a blanket-less air mattress in the middle of the room, upon which we got busy. It was trashy, so incredibly trashy… and yeah, it was good.

As if the situation had not been audacious enough, the kid led me upstairs to his bedroom to hit the hay- just feet from where the rest of his family lay dreaming. I felt like I pervert burglar creeping through every room of his home, stealing only propriety. He tossed me an oversized v neck undershirt and we cozied up in his very crowded twin sized bed.

In the morning I woke up horrified by the reality of where I was. Daylight was shining in my face like a policeman’s flashlight. Just then I heard a grumbling… In terror, I rolled over searching for the sound- and peered deep into the eyes of my date’s younger brother. We stared at each other for a painful 10-15 long seconds before he rolled over and returned to slumber town. Perhaps our intense gaze kept him from noticing the bare boobs spilling out of the V-neck of my makeshift nightgown…? I had to leave.

I slithered to the floor and pulled on my party dress, before punching my buddy awake. He lazily got out of bed and headed downstairs with me tiptoeing after him.  His mother and father were making breakfast and chatting with his much younger sister in the kitchen- he casually grabbed the keys off the kitchen table and ran a pick as I sprinted for the front door unnoticed. We returned to cruising down 90/94, but this time in the other direction and I never looked back. That was the last time we hooked up.


FREAKY FRIDAY #23 Getting high with your Mom

Here’s the thing about moms. Moms lived a rich, full life before you were born. They did the kinds of things that YOU do. They were irresponsible, made bad choices and had fun. For the most part moms put this side of themselves away when they have children. Or at least distance themselves from it. I think there’s something about deciding, or making or at least (hopefully) holding a life that you created that makes you want to get your shit together. Put those childish things aside. Cook dinner, create routines, give your children a structure to break out of. The way you did.

That was certainly the situation with my mom. She was a free, independent artist of a woman in her youth. Most of the details about her early life I’ll never know. She’s notoriously mysterious about it.

Maybe she’s forgetful because of all the pot she smoked with her drug dealing Vietnam-vet of an ex-husband. That’s something else that came up in recent years. He used to grow it in the backyard between their tomato plants while the two of them made pottery. Pot dealing potters. THE 70s WERE AN AMAZING TIME. But she put it all behind her. Another time, another life. My dad is kind of square and you didn’t want to blaze up in Reagan’s America - especially with three small ones underfoot. But the subject of the dirty herb came up between us (as I am a bit of a connoisseur) and she said that if the opportunity ever presented itself she would partake. Well, if there’s one thing she taught me, sometimes you have to make your own opportunities.

So we made a plan. The night started with us going to dinner at one of my favorite Italian places - spaghetti, wine, the works. She had wanted to see some live music (Chicago’s famous blues scene!) so we checked the Reader and decided on Kingston Mines. Standing under the el in an alley I produced a dugout and a oneie and she marveled at modern technology.

“In my day, if you couldn’t roll your own joints you didn’t deserve to smoke,” she said as she examined my one hitter. “I used to roll the tightest, best joints ever.” As she says this she starts puffing away like that 2 year old Indonesian kid who smokes a pack a day.

“Mom,” I say. “Pace yourself. It’s been 25 years…” blah blah blah hydroponics blah blah agriculture blah stronger strains etc. She does that thing with her hand that means ‘pffft’ and kept blazing. I think to myself, This is a grown woman. She can handle her shit. 

We get on the train platform and I can already see that the world is spinning for my mother. It’s all fast and foreign and scary. She starts talking about her ex-husband. I’m also baked but trying to be a good trip buddy. Do I steer her away from this subject? Indulge? Two stops later she is looking green. We get off. The train conductor sticks his head out the window and asks if we are ok. “Oh yes!” I say, “We’re just double checking our route!” Smiles. Waves. PANIC. I am PANICKING.

I decide that fresh air is the best course of action. We go downstairs and start walking and she seems to be doing a little better but my heart is pounding. WTF are we going do?! We go into a cafe that has some music playing. “Isn’t this nice? Here, drink this water.” She’s got her head in her hands and says “I need to lay down.”

Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Ok. Right.

I go outside and call a cab and instruct my mother to put her face on the cold window. She’s got her eyes closed and every swerve, every pothole is terrifying to me. To both of us. We park in front of my house and she bolts out, gets out and is leaning on the gate while I settle up. I’m doing my best to help her but she walks up the three flights to my apartment like she was on a pirate ship in the middle of a squall. We get in and she runs to the bathroom.

And.

Projectile vomits all that red wine and spaghetti on every surface of the room. I’m standing outside the door cursing myself and my stupid weed. THIS IS NOT GOD’S GREEN HERB. THIS IS THE WORK OF THE DEVIL.

She comes out looking like she’d been in the wars, staggers over to her air mattress and trust falls on it. Eyes closed in full-on shavasana. I went into the bathroom and scrubbed my shame away before checking on her again. Looking closely for her chest rising and falling - any evidence of life. Nervously I call my sister and confess what I did.

“I think I killed mom!” I say, whisper yelling into the phone. “I got her high and now I think she’s dead!”

My little sister talked me down. It was fine. Just let mom sleep it off.

Come to find out, my mom had puked her spins away and was now just enjoying the ride. She heard me on the phone and was giggling to herself before falling into what she called one of the best sleeps of her life.

“What a great night,” she said recently. “All parents should get to hear their children care that much.”


Freaky Friday #22: Dust Bustin’

When I was in high school I was afraid of two things: taking the SATS and getting pregnant.  Two things were against me, a lack of comprehending algebra and how horny I was, like all the time. I used to make out with the walls, my bed post, door frames, so when the time came to have an actual real live boy to kiss on, I. went. nuts. 


Horror stories from TV, health class and the halls had me too scared to risk it going…ALL THE WAY.  If Ross and Rachel and could get pregnant from a faulty condom, SO COULD I.  My high school boyfriend was a real sweetheart. He never pressured me to do anything and we never had sex. I was just too scared…but I did give him a ton of blow jobs. It was sexually freeing to be doing something bad, but felt safe from the ever looming danger of teen pregnancy. 


On one of my first attempts, we were making out hot n heavy at his on Grandmother’s house. He lived with his Grandparents and they always went to bed early which left us a lot of alone time on the couch. I decided to conquer the boner I could feel pressed up against my leg. As I crept closer and he disrobed front he waist down.  I thought to myself, “I give blow jobs now. Its what I do…Nothing to be afraid of.” 


I went into action and as I began, I ran my hand down his chest and out from his belly button popped a giant ball of lint, easily the diameter of a quarter. “Oh gross.” I thought, until I realized that the ball of lint had fallen straight into my mouth., and in a panic state and without thinking, I swallowed it. Yes, I swallowed a giant ball of lint that had fallen out of my dirty teenage boyfriend’s belly button. Did he notice? Did he care? When was the last time he took a shower!? I wanted to scream. I decided it would be more embarrassing for both of us if I stopped and told him why. There were worse things I could swallow I thought, and got back to  business. 

Freaky Friday #21: Mother Knows Best

There I was in my young twenties. I had just dumped by boyfriend of two years and was finally single in Chicago. I was cute, had personality, and loved meeting new people. Right where I wanted to be.

One day, I received a phone call from my mother with father on speaker phone. She had received an unmarked package in the mail addressed to me.

Mom: Do you want me to send it to you or open it?

Me: Well what does it look like?

Mom: It’s a small air bubble envelope. Feels like there’s equipment inside.

Me: Well I’m not expecting anything. I haven’t ordered anything online.

Mom: Maybe I shouldn’t open it.

Me: Who is it from? Is my name on it?

Mom: It is addressed to you, but there are no other markings on it.

Dad: Just open it.

Mom: Well I don’t think I should.  It might be…

Me: Go ahead and open it. I have no idea what it could possibly be.

Mom: Well maybe I’ll open it in my bedroom by myself.

Me and Dad: Why?

Mom: Because I’m starting to think….it seems like it could be a video tape of some sort. [Ex-boyfriend] wouldn’t have sent this to us, would he?

Dad: (moment of realization) OH GOD!

Me: Mom. That can’t be it. Just open it.

Truth is, it totally could have been it. The previous year I had made a sex tape with my then-boyfriend. I was hesitant to do it at first because…. what if I became famous????  He could use it against me.  But in the end I thought, what the hell. My body is fly as hell right now (I was a workout BOSS), my boyfriend’s bod is hot, the sex is good, and it needs to be documented.

Dad: Well I’m outta here.

Words can’t describe how hard my heart was pounding knowing that my mother, who thinks sex before marriage is a cardinal sin, was about to open my sex tape while she had me on the phone. At least my mom had the foresight to send my father away to soften the blow of embarrassment.

Mom: OK, I’m going to open it. He (Ex-boyfriend) wouldn’t do that to you right? RIGHT?!

Me:  Mom it’s not what you think it is because we never did what you are thinking.


Lie.

Moment of truth. My mind and blood pressure racing. My sex tape has been leaked and the first person to see it will be my parents. Next…the internet. “Sly dog”, I thought as I pondered my ex’s malicious revenge.  My whole world got fuzzy. I was experiencing tunnel vision.

“It’s a wallet”

What??

Mom: It’s your wallet you lost last year! Someone found it and returned it in the mail.

Unbelieveable.

Me: Ya. What else would it be!?!?! I mean, that is awesome.

But Mom knew better. She knew what could have been in that package and honestly, she was just as equally relieved as I was.  But to this day I still wonder how. I kept my sex life very private, and my sex tape even MORE private. How did my mom immediately know the possible reality?

THAT’S A MOM FOR YA.  Happy Mother’s day!!!


Freaky Friday #20: Bug Spray

The summer before my freshman year of college I lost my virginity to a boy in his backyard. It was weird because we planned it out. We decided that on this night, at this time, I would drive to his house, and somehow we would both lose our virginity. We “loved” each other so I felt no fear. No fear except that bone-chilling, stomach-burning, vertigo-inducing fear you get before you have a penis shoved in you for the first time ever.

I’m proud and simultaneously ashamed of the way this whole event happened, simply because I plotted and planned to make my first time “the way I wanted it”. NOTE: not “perfect”. I knew it wouldn’t be perfect because I had never done it before and felt real awkward about it. But, I made sure it happened with this particular boy, pre-college. I just knew I needed to do sex so I could get it over with and BE A REAL WOMAN, ALREADY!

I bought a sexy bra. I straightened my hair. I arrived on time. I called him and he answered the phone then said, “I think we’ll have to do this outside.”

“Ummmmmmmmmmmmmm…???”

“Yeah, my parents are sleeping and I don’t want them to wake up. I’ll be down with a blanket in a sec.” Click.

A blanket? What about in my car? In the garage? Why outside?? I see him climbing down a tree from the second story window with a pillow and a fluffy comforter under one arm. Ugh, he’s going to fall and die and then I’ll have to wake his parents up anyways.

He convinced me that having sex for the first time on a blanket in his backyard by a birdhouse in the middle of the night was the best way for us to figure out sex for the first time. It sounds romantic (does it sound romantic?) but it was kinda weird.

We started making out and taking off clothes and immediately realized there were a lot of bugs outside in wooded, grassy areas in the summertime. Like, a lot of mosquitos. Per his awesome, awesome, awesome (cannot stress how awesome this was) suggestion, we got dressed, hid the blanket, and I drove us to a grocery store to get BUG SPRAY.

Dude did not want to wake up his parents by going back in the house to get the bug spray that already existed indoors. He did not want to climb back up the tree. He did not want to try to be quiet in any room downstairs. He wanted to go to the grocery store to buy bug spray. I complied because I had two goals:

#1: Lose virginity before college.
#2: Lose virginity to this guy.

Note: Bug spray smells like pure chemicals burning holes in your brain and lungs. It leaves your body sticky and stings when it touches a cut. It is not sexy.

We went to the only open grocery store we could find and awkwardly made jokes about the situation as insomniacs roamed the aisles. I wondered if any of them knew that I was about to have sex!!!!!!!???!!!??

We’re back on the blanket. We’ve sprayed the bug spray. We’re getting down to it — we’re doing it! I’m having sex for the first time and I just look around and think, “I am outside in a back yard! I can hear crickets! What if a mosquito flies into my vagina? What if his parents are watching and I can’t tell because it’s dark everywhere? What if his neighbors are watching with binoculars??”

Then, as strangely as it began, it concluded. Mission(ary). Accomplished.

His sweaty, bug-spray-sticky body hugged me close, then he whispered, “I should probably get going and climb back up that tree.”

He climbed holding the blanket and I had to give him a boost and then throw the pillow up to him. It took kind of a long time.

From his window he whispered - in broad moonlight - “I love you. See ya later.”

I whispered back, “I love you, too.”

I got in my car smiling because I felt more like a woman, like a million new doors had opened for me, and like I had planned something and carried it out and I was happy. But I also really wanted to shower because I had bug spray all over and it feels weird under clothes. It’s really just meant for skin outside clothes. I was wearing a sweatshirt and my arm hair was sticking to the fabric. Super annoying.


Freaky Friday #19 - Cap’n Crunch

My best friend and neighbor moved away from me when we were just reaching our puberty years. She moved to a fancier, cooler school where the girls were “fast” as my mother called them and the mothers all got plastic surgery. She invited me to her big boy/girl Halloween party and putting aside my hesitation…I decided to go. My mom helped me make my costume…I was a “Cereal Killer”. You know the kind. Black stretch pants…oversized black turtleneck. Mini boxes of cereal glued to my torso with fake blood smeared everywhere and a fake knife in hand. My mother and I laughed and laughed and repeated what a hilarious and awesome costume this was as I sat on the counter top of her bathroom while she applied strong hold gel in my hair.

She drove me to the party house and came in to chat with the adults upstairs as I was guided down to the basement where I heard Mariah Carey’s voice calling me like a Siren. I felt a rush of excitement and nerves. This was a BOY/GIRL PARTY and I was surely going to meet a BOY dressed as Sherlock Holmes and we were surely going to throw popcorn into each other’s faces and laugh the night away.

As I reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner my joy turned to dread as I saw my dear friend with her two new best friends all dressed up as sexy cheerleaders. They were giggling and touching each other’s hair in their short skirts and tight t shirts. When my friend saw me she looked at me with sadness and quickly offered a “oh hey! Drinks in the corner!” as she flipped around to join the rest of the barely dressed sexies.

I went to said drink station and slurped down a can of diet Pepsi while I quickly scanned the room. Not one single boy was wearing a costume at the party…not one. They all sat on the couches and watched the girls dance around. Half way through my Pepsi I bolted upstairs and pretended I needed to ask my mother something, which turned into me having some real laughs with the 40 year olds upstairs. I was yuckin it up like a champ desperately trying to ignore my great disappointment of the basement events just moments before. One mother with an orange face and plumped up lips even said “she’s somethin!”

I killed. Like a Cereal killer does.

Then I went home and cried a little.